The Poet
what is the poet?
An eye that sees the flower, sees the star,
Knows neither the beginning nor the end
But just the moment of things as they are--
The truths the moments only comprehend;
The vision that finds words to speak the dream--
Its end and its beginning--in a soul;
That brings to life the things that scarcely seem
Alive till words and memory cajole
Them from cacophony of fools. Daybreak
Of dreams and moments' wisdom else forgot,
Nightfall of visions, knowledge, joy, heart's ache;
The deep things else we cast aside for naught
(For we are careless) dares the poet prize,
Each dream with words enchant, immortalize.
Written for the #POMprompt at Fiddleheads and Floss:
see also my previous #POMprompt poem:
